


Shadows and Hope

by jillyfae



Series: Sweetest of All Sounds [15]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Foreshadowing, Reunions, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-22
Updated: 2013-08-22
Packaged: 2017-12-24 07:39:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/937307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jillyfae/pseuds/jillyfae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Absence makes the heart grow fonder</i> ... but it is always happier when separations end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shadoedseptmbr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadoedseptmbr/gifts).



> This originally started as a response to an imagineyourotp reunion prompt many many moons ago, but I only finally managed to turn it into a story thanks to a smut prompt from [sept](http://shadoedseptmbr.tumblr.com). Even if I didn't actually follow said prompt, I'm endlessly grateful it got my brain moving again. Thank you.

“Hawke.”

Adelaide grunted, but kept her eyes on her book.  Fenris would get to the point in short order.  One of the things she liked about him.

“Stop sulking.”

She grunted again.  She would not dignify that with a response.  She turned the page, even though she wasn’t quite sure what she’d just read, so he’d get the hint that she was Not Sulking, but Actually Reading, and leave her alone.

”Hawke.”  His voice was closer, and she almost jumped.  Damn sneaky elf and his silent footsteps.  She never had been able to figure out how he did that with a giant metal sword on his back.  ”When was the last time you were outside?”

“I practice in the back yard every day, Fenris.”  _Can’t let the staffwork or spells get rusty._

“And the last time you talked to someone?”

“We did a patrol of the Docks for Aveline yesterday.”

“Hmm. ‘That way’ or ‘check those crates’ doesn’t count.  You’re sulking.”

“Wicked Grace was just the other night, don’t be ridiculous.”

“That was six days ago.”

Her fingers tightened around her book, a short hard breath of air startled out through her nose.  _Over a sennight past due,_ _now_.

She’d been trying so very hard not to think about that.

“Hawke.”  Fenris drew out her name that time, both disapproving and sympathetic.  It was rather annoying how he could carry on an entire conversation without, actually, conversing.  Rather left everyone else at a disadvantage, always saying too much in comparison.

His hand dropped onto the page in front of her, pushing her book down against her legs.  She blinked hard as she lifted her head to look at him, then had to sniff back the damp heat in her throat and eyes at the soft curve of his eyebrows _.  Fenris trying to be nice, oh Maker, I am a wreck, aren’t I?_

“No news is good news.”

She forced a short bark of laughter, trying to pretend it hadn’t sounded half like a sob.  ”Am I that obvious?”

“Frequently.”  The tone was dry, but not unkind, and her second almost laugh was at least a bit less damp.  His hand slid off her book as he stepped back, his other hand lifting in an obvious invitation to _stand up now_.

Adelaide rolled her eyes but obliged, setting her book on the table before following Fenris. 

”Boots.  Staff.”  He leaned against the wall, staring at her.

“Can I go brush my hair first?”  She attempted to take a few steps backwards towards the stairs.

“No.”

“Hood?”

He nodded slightly, and she finally managed a proper laugh at the somehow both impatient and overly gracious maneuver, feeling better than she had in eight days.

His lips twitched into something approximating a smile.

“You are a much better friend than I deserve, Fenris.”

“Obviously.”

“And so humble, too.”  She sat down at the bench in the foyer to pull on boots, grab a cloak, and slide a staff between her fingers.  ”Just for that I get to pick where we go.”

“Who said I was going anywhere?  I’m just making sure you leave the house.”

“So, what, you’re going to guard my front door all afternoon so I can’t get back in?”

“The idea has some merit.”

Adelaide snorted at that, and stomped out the front door.

She stopped, just a few steps out, head tilted back to feel the sun on her face, a slight breeze blowing across her skin as she listened to Fenris latch the door closed behind them.

“Thank you.”

She could almost feel him shrug behind her, though he didn’t say anything.

“His last letter said he’d hoped to be back by the end of the last moon.  Nothing since.”

“How long?”

“Since the letter? 20 days.”  Her head dropped to face forward again, a sigh causing her shoulders to slump.  Mail was pretty reliable throughout the Marches in the summer, even with mountains in the way.  She usually got a message every sennight or so.

“He’s remarkably resilient, for a noble.”  Fenris’ voice was quiet as he stepped around her and started walking.  ”He’ll show back up.”

“I keep telling myself that.”  She shook her head as she caught up with him.  ”I’m less than convincing.”

Fenris sat them both down to luncheon at a tavern; made her clean her plate and drink all her small ale out of the sheer power of his glare. 

She dragged him off to services afterwards. 

At first it helped, eyes closed as she listened to the music, slowly breathing in the sent of the brazier smoke.

Sebastian always smelled a bit like incense.

It had soaked into his clothes, his hair, his skin.

And now she was thinking about his skin, the feel of his hands on her, the smell and taste of him beneath her lips …

She dropped her head into her hands, trying desperately not to squirm in her seat.   She was getting turned on by _incense_.  That was just embarrassing.  And inappropriate. And she was pretty sure she was blushing.

She concentrated on her breathing, letting the sound of the Sister’s sermon wash over her, not really listening to the words so much as the rhythm, keeping each breath steady and shallow, smelling her own skin and soap and clothes rather than thinking about incense and leather and the metallic tang of armour and buckles.

Her fingers tightened, the pressure of fingers almost painful against forehead and cheeks. 

_He’s fine.  There’s no reason for him to not be fine._

_There’s no reason for him not have sent me a bloody letter when he got delayed either._

Fenris shifted very slightly, the press of his knee against her thigh helping her steady her thoughts.  It was better than a hug, coming from him, the slight warmth of his body next to hers, the soft sound of his breathing as he sat through the service, just to keep her company.

She paused in front of the double doors afterwards, stepping to the side to let the rest of the crowd trickle out, listening to footsteps and snatches of other people’s conversations, watching the shift of shoulders fill the stairs outside, the doors propped open to ease their passing, to let the soft spring breeze blow inside, until the great entrance hall was empty again, just the two of them near the wall.

“Hanged Man?”

Adelaide shrugged uneasily at Fenris’ soft suggestion. 

Normally there was nothing better than ale and laughter and trying to prove how Isabela was cheating, (no one had managed to figure her methods out yet), the soft slide of cards between Fenris’ fingers, Aveline’s narrowed eyes as she watched everyone (and the door, just in case), Merrill’s increasingly bright and nonsensical suggestions, Anders’ rolled eyes, and Varric quietly making sure neither apostate lost quite all their money, and ate the food he slid in front of them.

Adelaide wasn’t nearly good enough to lose on purpose.  She did give them as much of her share of the loot as she could manage when she dragged them out on a job though.  She used to split it three-ways, giving some to Fenris too, but he always dropped precisely the extra amount she’d given him into the pot at the next game, so she’d given that one up as a lost cause.

Besides, Varric assured her that ‘the elf’ made good money going freelance on the side, the occasional extra sword for one of the local mercs.  Varric kept an eye on all of them, after all.

Except for Sebastian, off in Ostwick or Ansburg, or, no, it was Tantervale this time, well out of even Varric’s reach as he visited nobles and Captains and slowly built alliances.

He’d even managed to start an extremely illicit correspondence with the Seneschal of Starkhaven, apparently a woman he remembered from before the massacre.

Adelaide was just waiting for ‘Prince’ Goran to figure that one out and decide to kill his erstwhile cousin before he became more trouble than he was worth.  Her fingers tightened around her staff.  She’d been trying so hard not to wonder if one of Goran’s less reputable advisors could have already done that, with Sebastian off almost completely by himself, insisting Kirkwall was too unstable for her to leave, asking her to keep an eye on the Grand Cleric for him, worry and pride both mingling in his eyes as he kissed her hand farewell.

Leaving her to fuss in his absence, having to let other people protect him, rather than being by his side, as she’d prefer.  A mercenary squad, no matter how reputable, was nothing compared to having proper friends at one’s back.

But Kirkwall was just waiting to collapse, he was right, and if she was gone when it finally fell, and there was something she could’ve done to help?

_Damn Meredith and Orsino and Elthina, all three of them, unable to manage themselves long enough to get us a proper Viscount.  I don’t know how Bran hasn’t resorted to hiring Crows to put them all out of his misery._

“Hawke.”

Fenris was standing closer than usual, his shoulder almost brushing against hers, pulling her out of her thoughts before she worried herself into a dither again.

“I guess I’m still poor company.”

“You’re not required to entertain anyone.” Fenris stepped back just enough to give them both room to move, if needed.  ”Varric would be insulted at the merest suggestion he couldn’t handle the lot of us on a bad day.”

She snorted softly.

Truth.

And yet.

“Home?”

“Thank you, Fenris.”

She waved him off before she went in.  The mood she was in, she’d have Bodahn pull up a bottle, or three, and they’d both drink much too much wine and she had never quite mastered a proper hangover cure.

The only thing worse than worrying around in circles was doing so with a headache.

She’d just have some dinner, and go back to her book, and tomorrow do a sweep down the Coast for some proper distraction.

After she checked her desk for mail.

* * *

 

Those were not her boots.

"Hawke, is something wrong?"  Aveline's voice followed by Aveline's footsteps, stepping inside to check on her after her sudden halt in the foyer of the Estate.  "Oh."

Adelaide turned, and tried not to blush at the hint of a smile Aveline was failing to suppress.

"I'll not be coming by first thing in the morning for patrol, then."  She chuckled softly.  "Let me or Fenris know when you come up for air."

" _Aveline,_ " Adelaide stuttered, completely unable to manage a rebuttal before Aveline turned smartly, waved farewell over her shoulder, and practically marched herself out the door.

Adelaide barred the door after Aveline left, and took two quick steps to the side to peer into the cloakroom, just to be sure, feeling something catch in her chest, relief and worry both, as the light that spilled past the open door highlighted the edges of white armor and scale, neatly placed on the armor stand against the wall.

Mostly relief.

And perhaps a tinge of anger, at making her worry for so long without a word.  Still.  She could feel herself smiling as she took off her own armor and racked it up against the wall beside his. 

There were peach blossoms in the Great Hall, delicate branches lifting them out of a crystal vase set squarely in the middle of the table.  Adelaide stopped to look at them, lifted one hand to brush against the petals.  Dropped it again when she saw the flowers shiver, catching against the tremble in her fingertips.

Her father had always brought flowers when he came back from a trip.  He'd hide presents somewhere in the house for her and the twins, you only got yours if you could find it, but the flowers he put front and center, so they'd be the first thing their mother saw when she walked in.

She'd forgotten she'd told Sebastian about that.

He hadn't.

He apparently also remembered her bemoaning the death of the neighbor's peach tree, and the lack of blossoms this year.

Peach blossoms had been Bethany's favorite.

He'd successfully defused her almost-anger by almost making her cry, swallowing a hot ache down a tight throat, her eyes damp as she blinked.

He'd probably apologize for that if she told him.

If she found him to tell him in the first place.

She glanced through the open doors to the study, but it seemed cool and quiet, no light trailing down from the library balcony, either.  She turned slowly, eyeing the stairs, the small door hidden back behind them towards the kitchen, the large door on the far wall towards the dining hall.

The Estate was stupidly large for only a few people.  It had obviously been designed with _dynasty building_ in mind, lots of Amell children to storm the nobility and bend them to their wills, even more servants to keep them all presentable along the way.

It echoed, sometimes, with the sound of her breathing, and she wondered if the walls themselves knew to be sad that it was so empty.

And now she really was going to cry, because her mother would have loved to see her fill the place with grandchilden, _Hawke noses and Vael eyes,_ and when had she gotten so weepy? Sebastian would think she wasn't glad to see him if she burst into tears on his shoulder.

_Should know better than to keep to myself for so long, turning all maudlin._

She sniffed, one hard breath, _tonight is a good night, stop that self,_ and then covered her mouth to muffle a giggle.

There was a mango sitting on the staircase. 

Well.

That told her which direction to go looking, anyways.

She almost ran about half way up the stairs, barely slowing down to scoop up the fruit, heavy in her hand, red and orange and vibrant in contrast to the dark reds and browns of the Hall, just a hint of green at the base, making her fingers look pale and yellow in comparison.

If he didn't have a fruit tray up there somewhere she was going to make an awful mess trying to eat the thing.  _Though that might be the plan?_   He seemed to like cleaning up after her.

The bedroom door was cracked, a thin line of firelight tracing the edge of the frame, a shifting gold and red warmer even than the fruit in her hand.

She still couldn't hear anything. And she hadn't been all that quiet, thumping up the stairs and across the landing.  It made her oddly nervous, heart tight in her chest with anticipation, and her steps slowed.  She paused right in front of the door, made herself take one slow deep breath. 

He was home.

_He didn't send any word.  He brought flowers and fruit back, he didn't come out to greet me, what went_ wrong _that he couldn't tell me and needed to sweeten the blow?_

She was tired of everything always going wrong.  Was it so horrible to not want to hear about yet another failure? 

_Maker, I'm a mess.  Mail gets lost. Sebastian is always trying to get me presents.  It is not the end of the world._

_Yet._

_I hope._

Adelaide rolled her eyes at herself, and pushed the door the rest of the way open.

She had to stop a step inside, close her eyes and breathe again, relief a painful weight in her chest.  He'd fallen asleep in the chair by the hearth, a light rug almost sliding off his knees and pooling on the ground beyond his feet, head tilted at what would undoubtedly be a painful angle once he woke up, his breath heavy enough to almost be a snore.

She shut the door behind her, smiling as she saw his fingers twitch at the sound of the latch, though he didn't quite wake up. 

He didn't shift as she stepped closer, or react to the soft clink when the tea tray shifted at the added weight of the mango she placed on it.  He sighed, his breath easing into something a little less raspy when she kneeled beside him, but he stayed asleep, and she took shameless advantage of his sleeping form to remind herself of how pretty he was, now that he was home for her to admire.

He had ridiculous eyelashes, thick and dark, their shadows moving on his cheeks as the fire flickered.  Not that his cheekbones were any less ridiculous.  Or his lips, soft and full and slightly parted.  He was even wearing her favorite shirt, the one with the ties that always slipped loose, causing it to gap further open than most, revealing the hollow of his throat above the edge of his collarbones, a hint of curling auburn hair along the plane of his breastbone, the loose green ties practically shining against the darker tone of his skin.

She wanted to rest her hands against his cheeks, kiss him awake with the warmth of her lips on his. 

She wanted to lean in close enough to kiss the line of his neck, to breathe in the scent of him, to slide her hands beneath the loose hem of his untucked shirt, feel the heat of his skin, the jump in his muscles at the brush of her fingers just above his hips.

She wanted to let him sleep, until the edge of purple beneath his eyes faded.  She could see a shadow of stubble beneath the skin of his jaw, which happened rarely enough she could recall each occurrence, recognize each moment of exhaustion or stress or grief.

There was still quite a bit of worry tightening her lungs, even though he'd clearly successfully navigated whatever had gone wrong, had made his way home to her again.

Could you still be afraid of the pain from something that had already happened?

The tension in her shoulders made that answer clearly _yes._

Rather than startle him too badly, rather than indulge either worry or lust, she reached out and put her hand on top of his, let her thumb bump along his knuckles.

He hummed.

She smiled, and waited, her thumb still stroking his hand, until he blinked, slowly, and finally woke up enough to see her. 

"Adelaide."  His voice was thick, and warm, and she would never in her life understand how someone could smile like he did when he saw her, sweet and soft and perfect.  He leaned forward out of the chair, and she lifted her chin to meet him, went breathless at the brush of his lips, the warmth of his kiss, the gentle weight of his hand against her cheek.

She sighed, soft and broken, leaning in towards him, her forehead falling to rest on his shoulder, his fingers pressing against the line of her neck to the knob of her spine, slowly lifting back up to the line of her hair and down again.

"Why do you smell like elfroot?"

"I'm fine."  Sebastian ignored her fingers digging into his sides; she ignored the wrinkles of his shirt pressing against her palms, breathing instead in time with the slow constant drag of his fingers, running up and down the back of her neck.  "I promise."

"What happened?"

"Simeon died."

Her body tensed, and he didn't try and soothe it away, waiting until he felt her shoulders lift with her next breath.  _Simeon was a good Lieutenant.  I liked him.  Honest even, especially for a merc._

"River rats were off course, dodging some local militia, tried to land too close to where we were camping for the night."

She swallowed at the slow pace of his words, the shadows of all the things he wasn't describing, things they both were all too familiar with, blood and fire and pain, cloaked in a night-time ambush.

"I'm sorry," she whispered against his neck.  _Sorry for the fight, sorry for your loss, sorry I couldn't fight by your side._   She felt him shake his head, as if to disagree with her need to apologize, but he didn't say it.

"We'd swung close to Starkhaven, mail drop for the Seneschal, but we couldn't go there, might catch the attention of Goran's guard.  Had to hide in the foothills, tend to Simeon, a few other wounded, keep away from the bandits on the road up to the Pass."  His fingers tightened.  "There are more of them than there used to be."

His words were so very heavy, and there was nothing she could do about it, the pain of his guilt edging his breath.  He was so clearly wondering how much was his fault, Simeon, the bandits, the raiders ... should he have marched on Starkhaven three years ago right after he'd killed the Harimann's demon? Could he have left Kirkwall, if he'd tried?  Could he have helped his old home by abandoning the new to the chaos building in the streets?

Or would he just have gotten himself killed, or imprisoned, no support behind his coup?

Her arms tightened around him, offering what comfort she could.  Their lives were painfully shadowed by too many _what-ifs._

"He almost made it."  Sebastian's voice had dropped to the barest whisper.  She could hardly hear it, even tucked up against him as she was.  "He was getting better, steadier, and then."  He paused, and she felt him swallow, felt the press of his lips against the back of her head.  "After he died, we double-timed it back.  Had to get away from his pyre.  Had to get out of the field."

She turned her head, lifting up enough to kiss the edge of his jaw, rough skin catching against her lips.  His skin was clean, the slightest hint of soap as she breathed in.

And still the elfroot.

"You never answered my question."

She felt his shoulders shift, not quite able to tell if it was a sigh or laughter or sorrow.  "I told you I was fine?"

"I didn't ask if you were fine."  She pulled back, looking up into his eyes, shadowed by the chair and the angle of his head, his ears bright and red with the firelight glowing through them.  "Though I'm glad to hear it."

He smiled again, a slow shift of mouth and cheek.  "I'm glad to say it.  And glad to see that you were well while I was gone."

Adelaide snorted, letting him get away with deflecting yet again.  "Fenris and Aveline may argue about _well_ when you speak with them."

His smile widened enough she could see a hint of tooth catching the light before he lifted his chin and kissed her forehead.  "You don't smell of elfroot.  I'll take my victories where I may."  She slapped a hand against his side, more noise than contact, gaze sharp on his face as he pretended to wince.

Or she hoped he was pretending, fingers going slack against his skin with a sharp pang of worry.

"I'm sorry, that wasn't funny, I know."  He sighed, leaning in until his head was resting along the side of hers, his cheek against her hair.  "'Tis only a poultice wrap around my sprained ankle, and I escaped anything beyond minor scrapes until after the Blue Swords settled into their lodgings, and I almost got mugged cutting through that abandoned Court between here and the Merchant's Guild.  Guardman Maecon kindly escorted me here, after we ran the fools off.  Aveline will be more than happy to yell at me about taking shortcuts at dusk whenever she next sees me, I'm sure."

"So I don't need to?"

"There are," he whispered, his hands settling along the curve of her spine, "other things I'd much rather be doing, now that I can see you again."

"Just see?"  Adelaide leaned back, voice just as soft, until she could look up into his eyes again.

He kissed her in answer, a catch of need stuttering his breath the instant before their lips met, fingers curving to cling, heat curling in her stomach and flushing her skin and weighing her arms as she pulled herself closer to him.  His mouth moved along her jaw, wet and slow, hot breath shivering against her neck, her head falling back with a moan, and she wasn't sure if she wished to laugh or cry.

"I missed you," his voice, oh _Maker,_ there was nothing in her life that could make her heart ache like his voice, and she shivered, forgetting laughter and tears in favor of his breath, her own, one deep gasp to loosen her throat so she could speak.

"Come to bed."

His nose brushed against the curve of her shoulder, his sigh of agreement enough to make the muscles low in her stomach twitch, to cause an echoing clench between her legs.

She wasn't ever quite sure how they made it out of the chair and across the room, neither of them willing to let go of the other, the feel of breath on skin, her sliding backwards on her knees, him favoring his ankle, until finally they were sprawled across the bed, and she was laughing as his head settled between her breasts, a soft groan escaping him.

"I missed you too," he murmured to her chest, her giggle cutting off mid breath when his mouth landed on top of her nipple, sucking through the cloth until she squirmed, damp fabric sticking to her, pulling when it slid against sensitized skin.  He lifted his head, both hands pushing against her breasts, thumbs sliding across her nipples, and her breath caught in her throat, and his weight shifted until he could kiss her neck.  "I missed that too, that sound you make when I touch you."

She almost whined with her next breath, almost laughed again, back curving to push her breasts up into his touch, press her stomach up towards his weight, neck curving to catch the heat of his words.  He moved up enough she felt the slight scrape of his teeth against her jaw, and she gripped his hair in her hands to pull him further so she could kiss him, could feel that ache in her chest echoed by the hum in his throat, could slip her tongue against his, could forget all the worry of the past moon and delight in him instead.

"I missed your ears," he whispered into one of the ears in question, the tickle of his breath making her jerk until he laughed, low and rumbling, and that jerk of her hips had nothing to do with tickling and everything to do with heat.

"I missed your laugh," she answered, right before she nipped at the lobe of his ear, pulling just enough to make him groan, "though that is a wonderful sound as well."  She kissed the edge of his jaw, slowly slid down his neck until she could press her nose into the hollow of his throat; she'd missed the scent and warmth of his skin.

He'd missed the twist in her hips when she lifted herself so he could tug her shirt free of her belt, could slide his hands up her sides.

She'd missed the feel of his hands, strong fingers spread beneath her ribs, callouses rough against her skin.

He'd missed the smooth shift of her body beneath him, beside him, rising above him as she rolled him over and pulled her shirt all the way off, tossing it off the bed. 

She'd missed the way the light caught in his eyes when he looked up at her.

He'd missed the feel of her hair falling against his skin when she bent to kiss him.

She'd missed the way his palms fit along the curve of her hips, the strength of his thighs beneath her as she slid back along his legs when he sat up.

He'd missed the slide of her fingers up his back once she got her hands under his shirt.

_Maker,_ she'd missed his shoulders.  And the pull of muscles across his chest when his shirt got stuck on his elbows, and the mess the entire maneuver made of his hair, loose and mussed as he never allowed during the day.

He'd missed the arch of her spine, the push of her breasts against his chest when he pulled her close.

She'd missed how perfectly they fit together, skin and heat and kisses.  They spent an age like that, his fingers slowly stroking through her hair, her legs wrapped around his hips, her weight on his lap and her fingers resting against his shoulders, trailing up to his neck and down his back, feeling each shift of muscle beneath warm skin.

She kissed him hard, again, _again,_ fingers digging in, breathless and trying not to think, to wonder, _what will happen when he no longer comes back to Kirkwall?_

If Starkhaven's Seneschal asked him to make his move, and he had no more time, had to go home again, no matter his worries for the Grand Cleric, no matter his feelings for her.

If a skirmish killed him rather than a mercenary Lieutenant.

"I love you," she mouthed against his neck, his cheek, eyes tight closed to let her pretend it didn't hurt, deep in her chest, _what will I do when I lose you?_

The touch of his fingers stayed slow, but his grip tightened and he kissed her back just as hard, sharp breaths against her skin a warning before each touch of his lips.

"I will always love you," his voice was a whisper, an ache, and she knew it for truth, felt it in the heat of her blood and the flush of her skin and the way she needed to hear his voice, first thing every morning, last thing every night, _but what if that isn't enough?_

His hands were warm against her cheeks, and he kissed her eyelids, first one, than the other.  "I will always come back to you."

She nodded, throat tight as she swallowed.  She knew he'd always try.  More than that neither of them could promise, however much they wanted.

She lifted her chin, leaned forward into his hands, bumping her nose with her own before she tilted her head enough to brush their mouths together, warm and slow, until her throat eased and the darkness in her eyes cooled enough she could open them again.

It was enough, to see the way the firelight limned the side of his face, the shimmer in his eyes as he smiled at her, the heat of his chest, the shift of his thighs beneath her.  She smiled back, let her fingers ease their grip.  She rolled her hips and whispered softly into the warmth of the air between them. "Now where were we, again?"

His hips lifted up beneath her, his hands curving under her arse to shift her weight up until she could feel the length of his cock hardening beneath his trousers, a tease to the coil of tension building low beneath her stomach.  "Wondering why we're both still wearing pants?"

"That is a very good question."  She pushed against his chest until he fell back, following him down until she was pleasantly sprawled across his chest, another rumbling chuckle causing a thrum of skin beneath her hands.  "We should fix that."

It took another roll or two, a lift of hips, a few kicks when fabric got caught on a knee or heel, a pause when he palmed her breast to make her back curve with a gasp, another when she let her teeth find the edge of his collarbone and his forehead curled down to press against her head.

She tried to stretch beneath him, a pull of arms and legs and back, trying to touch him everywhere, all at once, until at last they were pressed together, and more, and her whole body curved, pushing up, closer, _deeper,_ a groan as her head pressed back and her hips tilted and he was finally inside her, heat and pressure and the grip of his hands, their fingers tangled together, her thighs against his hips and the weight of his chest and the catch of her heart and the secret sound of her name whispered across her skin.

His eyes never looked so dark as when he was inside her, and she shuddered to see them, to feel the tension in his body as she moved around his cock, and it was this, this ache of need that she never realized haunted each breath until the impossible relief when it was gone, lost with the touch of his skin in their bed, that she'd missed most of all.

He filled her up, body and soul, and all she could too was grip his hair, wrap herself around him, tight and tighter yet, clenching with legs and arms and cunt to pull him close and keep him deep, head thrown back as she cried out with each shift of his hips, each caress of breath or hand or lips.

She couldn't breathe, she was dying, endless and terrible and perfect, and she never wanted it to stop, hanging on to him, to them, keeping herself together by the tips of her fingers, until finally she couldn't, nothing would hold, and her voice cracked and her lungs heaved her whole body up with one final gasp before she broke.

She fell apart slowly, tension shivering out from her stomach, cracks of heat along her skin, down her arms and legs as she felt him try and hold, a breath or two more, until he followed her fall with a groan and a final shift of his hips.

His lips brushed against her temple, slow and trembling with the weight of his breath, and when he tried to roll aside she whined, legs tightening to keep him still, hands stroking down his back.  He sighed, shifted his weight just a little, and she could feel him, hot and heavy, weighing her down, murmuring a mostly incoherent apology as he started to fall asleep in her arms.

He was still inside her, warm and soft.  Her hips were spread enough they'd ache soon, and he was heavy enough she had to think about each breath, but she wasn't ready to sleep anyways. 

She didn't want to move.

Didn't want to let him go.  Not quite yet.

 


	2. Chapter 2

There were few sights as welcome to wake up to as Adelaide, hiding beneath the deep black fall of hair half covering her face, a glimpse of an ear poking through into the cool dim light of early morning.  Though he was equally partial to the warmth of her skin by firelight, or the way her lashes caught the sunlight, or the way moonlight seemed to drown in the shadows of her eyes.

He was just especially fond of Adelaide.  And her hair. And the curve of her hip, even mostly hidden by the blankets they'd slid beneath, sometime after the coals had faded and the room had grown dark.

 _Maker's Breath,_  he missed her when he was gone.  Each time worse than the last, and he hadn't thought he'd survive that first farewell.  But it was more difficult to die than he'd expected when he was young; the amount of weight a heart could carry and yet still beat was both a revelation and a horror.

Adelaide's heart was capable of such lightness, such joy.

_Marvel at perfection, for it is fleeting ..._

But no, that was too maudlin a thought for such a sweet morning.  Even if it was the one that had so clearly haunted her the night before, the edge to their reunion, the shadow of both past and probable future that neither of them could ever quite escape. 

But neither was there anything he could do about it now, except brace, perhaps, for when the shift came and the wind blew in from the dock, past the Foundries, carrying the scent of dead fish, heavy with ash.

Today the air was clear.  Neither of them had to be elsewhere, it was just the two of them and the warmth of their bed.  He slid a hand free of the blankets, reached through the bare space between them to gently lift a lock of hair from her face, brush it back behind her ear.  Her head tilted towards the pillow with a slight sigh, but her eyes stayed closed, her body still and relaxed.  He smiled as he did it again, enjoying the slow reveal of her face from behind the curtain of her hair, soft and peaceful as she slept. 

He wanted to kiss the beauty mark beneath her eye, but his breath against her lashes would likely wake her up, and he was loathe to shatter whatever dream she might be in.  She was so lovely, and while she was seldom self-conscious, neither did she quite seem to believe her presence could hold such grace.  Sometimes his desire to admire her flustered her enough he usually tried to rein it in, to keep her comfortable, to refrain from lingering on the curve of cheek or eyebrow; it was safe for both of them, when she slept.  Besides, he was selfish enough to enjoy the sight even more because it was a treasure granted so rarely to anyone else, the Champion of Kirkwall at her ease.

He was quite ridiculously infatuated with her.

Good thing she seemed to find that charming.

So many good things, about Adelaide.

Perhaps especially when she wasn't as fast asleep as she seemed, and her fingers trailed up the side of his leg, lingering against his hip.  He laughed, more breath than sound, and succumbed to temptation, leaning in for the gentle kiss he'd desired, enjoying the light tickle of her lashes against his lips.  "Good morning."

"Mmm," she hummed, even as her hand slid behind his back and she pulled herself closer for another kiss, a quick flick of her tongue to tease his mouth open against hers, a trade of breath and warmth and the press of lips.

It made it an even better morning, the slow build of warmth between them, traded kisses, traded caresses, her fingers in his hair and his breath against her skin.

Eventually,  _at last_ , she rose above him, the blankets sliding off the smooth skin of her back, and he could watch all of her, from the fall of her hair as she lifted her chin to the line of her shoulders and back as she rode the lift of his hips, from the skin tightening around her nipples as her breath grew heavy to the tension shivering across her stomach at the touch of his hands, from the clench of muscles as her thighs gripped his hips to the flow of her body as she curved into one last crest above him, and he lifted up higher,  _higher,_  chasing the light he glimpsed before her eyes closed, heavy lidded and slow, her eyelashes dark against her cheeks. 

And he found it, and lost it, all in a moment, bright and searing relief, and he crashed back down upon the bed with a sigh and she settled upon his chest.

She nuzzled her nose softly against his neck, and he stroked her hair, and he refused to let tomorrow in, for just awhile longer.

* * *

 

"She worries."  Fenris' voice was soft, a rasp barely louder than the fire itself, but clear and distinct nonetheless.

Sebastian lifted his head from the letter he'd been reading (and reading and re-reading, quite uselessly, trying to find an edge to one of the smooth sentences that he could grab onto for a reply that would mean more than just more senseless posturing) and tried to think of a response.

He wasn't quite sure how they'd gotten where they were, exiles, lovers, Champion and erstwhile Brother.  He was quite sure he didn't deserve her, but as it was her choice to make, he was caught hoping she never came to her senses and left in search of someone better.

"I do not wish to worry her," he managed after a moment under Fenris' quiet stare, "but I can't just neglect my..."

Fenris cut him off.  "You should take me with you, next time."

Sebastian felt his mouth gaping, just a bit, and almost stuttered as he felt himself scrambling for words yet again.  "But Hawke - "

"Has plenty of friends and resources here in Kirkwall.  You do not, when you are traveling."

"I do not wish to impose?"

"You didn't.  I offered."  There was almost a smile for a moment, as Fenris watched Sebastian shift in his chair.  "Unless you do not want my assistance?"

"Maker, please." Sebastian breathed out, "It would be such a gift.  Beyond your skills as a fighter, it would be nice to"  _have such a good friend by my side._   He coughed, wondering if that might be more of a declaration of emotion than Fenris would find comfortable.  "Have the company."

Fenris snorted softly, finally sitting down in the chair before the fire, rather than looming beside the desk.  "Yes.  Company.  I'm sure I'm very entertaining."

"You're honest.  And insightful."  Sebastian swallowed a smile at Fenris' awkward shrug.  "And both those things are very helpful when dealing with politicians and mercenaries.  Keeps them from trying to con me too badly."

"Trying?"

"Well, I certainly don't let them, but they are so very interested in seeing how far they can push."  Sebastian sighed, and leaned back in his chair.  "Over and over again."

"You wish me to be... discouraging?"

"Well. You are better at glaring than I am.  Really.  You're quite terrifying."  Sebastian coughed slightly as Fenris slowly raised his eyebrows in Sebastian's general direction.  "I, generally, am not."

"You're not afraid of me."

"Of course not."  Sebastian let himself grin.  "But I've never been particularly sensible, now have I?"

That got another snort, and a proper smile.

"Thank you, Fenris."  Sebastian's voice was quieter this time, his face easing into something softer than a smile.  "Very much."

"What are we thanking Fenris for today?" Adelaide interrupted from the doorway, her shoulder up  against the frame, her eyes still and watchful, right up until the moment she caught up to Sebastian's smile, and an answering smile broke across her face. 

"He has offered his help, on my next trip."  Sebastian felt his smile widen as her eyebrows lifted, and she shot a quick glance in Fenris' direction.  Fenris just spread his hands, eloquent in silence.

And clearly amused, by the lift of his brows, as Adelaide made her way across the room to lean against Sebastian's shoulder rather than the door-frame.  "Stop you from tripping on broken cobblestones when you duck, will he?"  For all her voice was light, her hand settled on top of his, fingers wrapping tightly around his wrist.

Sebastian place his other hand atop hers, fingers stroking across taut skin.  "I'm sure he shall be a splendid baby-sitter."

Fenris snorted again, clearly unimpressed by that particular description.

Adelaide sighed, letting her head fall until her forehead was pressed to the top of his head.  Her fingers eased, just a little, and he allowed himself to believe that they'd make it through whatever it was hovering just beyond the horizon, dark and heavy, waiting to fall upon Kirkwall.

They had help, after all, friends as dear as family.

He was careful not to think too closely on what had happened to the families they'd once had.  Or what could very well happen to them, with the lives they all lived.

Sebastian tugged gently at Adelaide's hand, turned his head until he could kiss her cheek, could watch the tension ease across her shoulders.  Could watch as her worries settled, and her eyes blinked, and she turned to kiss him again, softly this time, her fingers sliding gently up his arm before she straightened up.

_Dream and idea, hope and fear,  
_ _Endless possibilities ..._

Surely some of those possibilities would lead to joy, rather than more sorrow.


End file.
